


Secrets lie in winter clothing

by try_reset (technorat)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Millicent the cat - Freeform, Necromancy, implied/referenced bad parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technorat/pseuds/try_reset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Anakin's death, Ben is sent across the country to live with his eccentric bathrobe-loving uncle. There, he meets a boy roughly his age. But something is different. The boy is a ghost.</p><p>Hux is a ghost and Ben can see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The dinner table talk could not have been more awkward.

He could see it in his parents' eyes: the fear that he too would misuse those powers granted to the Skywalker family, even after the Organa-Solo's had gone so far to distance themselves from Anakin.

Leia sat at the head of the table, Han to her right and her son to her left.

“Ben,” Han said, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “We've been talking...” His eyes shift away from Ben's unable to meet him. Han had never liked the... _talent_ that came with Skywalker blood. He found it both creepy and frightening, something he would never understand, something that he would never be able to talk to his wife about.

They got soup from his favorite takeout place. Leia hasn't even opened the plastic container yet. Her spoon rests in her hand on the tabletop. The illusion of just a little _friendly_ chat doesn't work. He knows just what they were going to say.

“It might be best if you stayed with Uncle Luke for a while,” Leia says in that infuriatingly calm voice of hers. She's already spoken to Luke and to Luke's daughter. One of them is more excited to receive Ben. “Just... just until things have calmed down, Ben.”

It's the last straw for him.

He slams his palms against the hardwood table as he rises, almost seeing red. “Grandfather died and _this_ is all you have to say?” he hisses. They're so deadset on taking _everything_ away from him—first Grandfather when he first got sick, now the local art school he had been attending. And for _what_? To move to some frigid state with his strange hermit uncle halfway through his college years?

_A fresh start,_ they'd surely call it, sugar-coating it as they tended to sugar-coat everything—including their many vocal arguments.

“I'm sure there will be an art school nearby that'll accept your transfer,” Leia says, as if reading his mind. “I've looked. There are quite a few in the area... Parsons. Pratt. SVA. There's more.” She says it so lightly. How _insulting! It’d be nothing like his CalArts!_

“You,” he hisses out. He feels himself shake and he cannot stop, clutching at his own spoon, wishing it were his grandfather's saber. “You cannot _force_ me to pick up and move, just like that!”

“Ben,” Han says, a warning in his voice.

“No!” he says, voice breaking. He's grown too loud for the small kitchen. Ben sees the fear in his father's eyes. Afraid of his own son, his own flesh and blood. Afraid of the powers that rest within Ben and Leia and Luke and Rey and every single _damn_ Skywalker in this damn world. “You can't just make me leave! I'm halfway through the school year and you're making me go? Before Grandfather's _wake_?”

Leia glances down at the table. The wood is lightened from years of people forgetting to use a coaster. She looks older now, face pinched and tired.

“There will be no wake,” she says simply.

“No wake?” He shakes his head, absolutely heartbroken. He even drops the spoon, letting it clatter against the tabletop. “B-but what if... what if--”

“Anakin will not return as a ghost,” Leia says. Her shoulders slump. She is drained. Of course, Leia had anticipated this as a topic, but it makes it no less exhausting. “You know what he did Ben. He abused his powers.”

He smacks his fists the table. They ache now, but he cannot bring himself to care. “Grandfather was just trying to bring Grandmother back!”

“And you know necromancy is looked down upon.”

He stumbles back, nearly knocking down his chair in the process. Hurt, raw and angry, his eyes glisten with unshed tears. Ben had not yet had the chance to grieve his Grandfather, the only family member that he felt truly understood him. “I'm going to my room,” he says, voice thick. Ben rubs his eyes, trying to force those tears back.

He runs up the stairs, never looking behind him.

Previously, Grandfather had lived while his body rotted, suffering from the backlash that had come with using his power. And _he,_ Grandfather's only grandson, had _not_ been permitted to visit. His Grandfather had died alone, no loved one at his side. A tragic end to a great man.

Ben could see it in his parents' eyes whenever they spoke to him: the fear that Ben too would misuse the powers granted to those in the Skywalker family.

When he slams the door to his bedroom, he realizes that he hasn't eaten dinner. It doesn't matter, he thinks to himself. Soon, Ben Organa-Solo will be shipped across the country to live in some dingy, drafty little house with his musty uncle and his overenthusiastic cousin.

He flops across his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest and fingering his ringlets of shaggy hair. He pulls at some tangles, not even caring about the pain that it also brings.

He sniffles.

*

 

Within the week, Ben packs his most important belongings. There isn't exactly much, mostly just clothing and art materials. A couple of books too; an overly annotated copy of some book he never finished reading _._ He didn't understand it and it frustrated him. He might as well finish it on the plane. Or fall asleep trying.

It didn't matter anymore. He wouldn't need to take that exact English course in New York.

New York.

It was hard to think about, so far away from anything Ben had ever known. And so cold too. He wasn't prepared for that.

A knock at his bedroom door startles him out of his thoughts. “Ben? It's me...” Leia. Of course. She probably wants to get in one of her little speeches before Ben gets on the plane and leaves her life forever. “Can I come in?”

“It's unlocked,” he calls.

She lets herself in, closing the door behind her. Leia's steps are light and make no sound. She sits by his side.

“You know,” Leia says, taking his hand in hers. His is much larger now, more calloused too. Ben is no longer a child. “This might be good for you... a fresh start, in a new place. You'd love New York, if you would just give it a chance.”

Ben had a terrible reputation around town and in school. The loner man-child who learned to express himself with angry strokes of a brush and paint; better than when he had been younger, better than when he lashed out violently with his fists and feet and teeth.

Leia had been born in New York and yet she had been moved away—far away-- once adopted. Anakin had moved closer in proximity with her later in life, trying to reconnect after reconnecting with Luke. It didn’t work.

So Ben is not quite so sure of this plan. New York City does not seem like a particularly wonderful place.

Luke had never left the home city of his birth parents and adoptive parents. He rarely left even his property these days.

“Be nice to Luke and Rey,” Leia says softly. “They're only trying to help.” She pauses, looks away for a moment before returning her gaze to her son. “I hear they've adopted a cat, of all things.”

Great.

A cat.

Ben thinks himself as more of a dog person. Cats never wanted affection, only food, those evil critters. Leia had never liked cats either.

“What's its name?” he asks.

Leia's face twists into a frown. “Beebee,” she sighs, pulling her hair. “They also have a dog, Artoo.” Leia shakes her head sadly, a fond smile lighting up her face though she tried to hide it. “Honestly, Luke shouldn't be allowed to name those poor animals.”

Ben shrugs. It isn't as if those poor animals cared about what they were called. So long as they were walked and fed, everything would be alright. And it was not as if Leia had the right to judge; their overgrown poodle had been named Chewie.

“When you get to New York, get Rey to check the mail, will you?” She knew her brother well enough, remembered him to stay inside for days, rarely leaving except for when he is needed to deal with a ghost. She kisses Ben's forehead, brushing his unruly hair out of the way. “You applied to those nice schools, right?”

He nods.

“Then they should answer soon enough.”

Those schools that Leia had forced him to apply to are good, but they will take him so far away from everything he loves. Will take him away from his friends, just when he’s made a few. Will just rip him away.

“Good, good... I'm sure you'll get into them all. Your paintings are especially lovely.”

Among the unfinished works Ben will not be able to bring to his Uncle's house is a half-done portrait of Grandfather, from back when he had been a younger man, hair curled just like his own. It would sit in the attic and gather dust until Ben came to retrieve it.

_If_ he came back to retrieve it.

“Just... let us know which school you do end up choosing, okay honey?” Leia kisses his forehead once again before rising to her feet.

“Goodnight Ben,” she says.

“Goodnight,” he echoes right back.

*

 

It's snowing when he gets off of the plane, carrying his luggage over one shoulder. _Snow_. At the end of _March_. He sighs, though it sounds more like a groan. Nothing will _ever_ go right for him.

He buys a Metrocard, of all things, and rereads the instructions on how to get to his Uncle's house for perhaps the thousandth time, written on a overly creased piece of paper with his father's messy scrawl. He curses Luke's dislike for the urban area once again. _Why the fuck did he live in the city if he hated it so damn much?_

The instructions are thorough, thanks to Han and his careful research, if not for his careful hand.

He stomps through the snow, instructions clutched in one of his hands and his luggage draped over the other shoulder. His jacket is thin. He can see his own breath. Shivering, he curses New York City for everything it has done to him, on the very first day he is there. _It cannot get better._

The bus stop is exactly where Han said it would be, almost hidden behind some car that was breaking a law or two. The bus even waits for him.

Beside the bus, sits a van. The windows are tinged black. It looks almost armored. He shivers and walks onto the bus, stepping into the warmth of it, ignoring how the van began to move.

Sniffling, he dips the card into the slot and then takes it back. The bus driver says nothing when his nearly numb fingers struggle to the card back up. The bus driver just watches with his big, watery eyes, waiting. The bus driver's gaze is heavy on him. He is aware of the growing line behind him.

He moves away from the front of the bus, finding a seat near the middle. He pulls his wet bag onto his lap, hugging it to his chest. _3 stops later should be a train station,_ the instructions read.

_How the fuck was he supposed to know when three stops went by?_

There are no announcements made and there are no signs for it anywhere that he can see.

Busy streets and neon lights pass him by too quickly. Occasionally, he sees that tell-tale blue, the sign of a ghost going about on whatever business it had. He was sent to stay away from his Grandfather's ghost, but here he was, seeing a countless number of those specters. It'd only be a short while before they noticed him too.

Abandoned by his parents... people who had claimed to love him unconditionally. He wanted to laugh at it all, tears stinging at his eyes for the moment. He tells himself it's just the cool wind of the air conditioner above him causing those unfortunate tears before blinking them away. He tells himself a little lie.

His parents had taken so much from him, ripping him away from everything he had held dear. He would no longer be Ben, the name they'd given him.

_Ren._

The name sounds right to him, suddenly, coming from nowhere. An adjustment to his birth name, something essential torn away.

The bus driver announces his stop when it comes to it. “Kew Gardens, terminal stop,” the bus driver's surprisingly soft voice calls. Soft, quiet, so very sad. The bus driver's sleepy eyes glance outside at the almost untouched snow on the ground as Ren gathers himself and his luggage.

He finds himself not alone. At least four others depart with him; only one, however, also carried luggage, maybe even from the same airport. The train station, according to Han, is a busy one, a place where a couple of different lines intersect.

And the train station is _filthy_.

Two ghosts hold each other by the forearms, looking deep into one another's eyes, bodies and clothes tinged that strange blue. They're dressed in old fashioned clothes; the man wearing an old, possibly tweed suit and the woman dressed in an old flapper dress. They did not come from the same time and could only have met after death, and yet, against all odds, they were in love.

He brushes past the odd couple on his way down the stairs. They don't even notice that they had been seen, too enraptured in one another and their sweet nothings. He wonders when, just when, those spirits would find the Light. He wonders if they'll be ripped apart then, put into their proper places in time.

He wonders just where his grandfather would go.

Would he find his grandmother?

The station is just as filthy, he finds. A map is hung up, several locations marked. A bit of it is missing for some strange reason. He examines it while waiting for a train. Hopefully, he thinks, he is in the right spot for a Manhattan bound F-train... whatever that meant exactly. Ren scowls at his paper, scaring off people without noticing it. _Uptown, downtown. None of it makes sense!_

When the train does pull in, it does so with such a loud, screeching noise that he cannot help but wince. He sighs then, relaxing his shoulders. It would be a long day, he thinks. His face is nearly numb, the snowflakes that littered his hair had melted, flattening his long hair against his skull, against his neck, freezing his skin.

He closes his eyes for a moment, tilting his head up. The artificial lights flicker, casting odd shadows across his face. The buzzing words of strangers mean nothing to him; those murmured words are not even processed.

Ren was approximately half an hour away from Luke's house, if everything went accordingly. It would not, thanks to his rotten luck. He just _had_ to arrive the moment a blizzard broke out.

 

*

The house that Uncle Luke Skywalker has chosen to live in is across the street from some park. Ren remembers it, from long ago, from short visits to Luke's during vacations—vacations that grew more and more infrequent over time until his family had stopped all together.

It looks the same.

Same overgrown trees and bushes.

Same statue, some man Ren did not recognize.

What was new was the amount of snow.

It was _disgusting._ Cold and wet and it just got everywhere, sinking through the layers of Ren's clothing to chill his poor skin. He decides then that he hates the snow and if he did not have to see any more of it then it would still have been too much.

He shivers, sniffles, and rings the doorbell.

Almost immediately, he hears a dog barking. Must be Artoo. It sounds like a little dog, bark high-pitched and noisy. Maybe Artoo is used to attention. A spoiled little brat, he decides, already casting judgement.

“Artoo, stop it,” a young voice calls out. “We have a guest.”

Ah. Rey.

She still sounds so young. _Why is she the one to unlock the door? Did she even check who it is?_ For all Rey knew, he might as well be a murderer.

“Ben!” she says, once the door is fully open. Rey is still much shorter than him. She is dressed in an oversized and plain shirt and even plainer pants. Padme would be rolling in her grave if she could see her granddaughter. “It's nice to see you again.” The small dog by her feet seems to agree, to an extent. Artoo, a mutt of some sort, barks and wags its tail.

Ren cracks a smile, uneven and awkward. “Could you just call me Ren?”

Rey, bless her soul, takes in stride, smile not even fading a little bit. “Okay,” she says, scrunches her nose. “Then... it's nice to you you again, Ren.” She doesn't hug him; she must see how awkwardly he's standing, leaning away from her, broad shoulders hunched awkwardly.

“Uh... so, where's Luke?” he asks, rubbing the back of his head. His uncle had to be somewhere within the house.

“Kitchen,” says Rey. “I'll take you there.” She steps aside, letting Ren into the house. Artoo sniffs his legs, barking curiously. Such a chatty, bratty dog.

The door leads directly into a living room. Two loveseats sit in front of an aged television. One loveseat is covered with a blank blanket. Even from a distance, Ren can see the short orange hairs that cover it.

He looks down at Artoo, the silvery blond dog. The fur belongs to another.

There's always that cat.

Fucking asshole cat.

“Dad!” Rey calls out. “Auntie Leia's son is here!”

The kitchen is further down, partially obscured by the strange layout. Ren nearly bangs his hip against some jutting out shelf. The photo frames on the shelf wobble precariously. This whole house is a _mess._

“Hm?” Luke sits at the kitchen table, plate in front of him cleaned from all food. He's wearing some weird brown bathrobe, as usual—he always seems to be wearing a bathrobe. He holds a newspaper in his gnarled hands. “Ben?”

“Ren,” he corrects, just as quick.

Luke says nothing at that. Instead, he folds the newspaper and stands. “Ren,” he says, correcting himself easily. “I hope you'll find this place nice. Your bedroom is on the third floor, first door to the left. You can put down your stuff there.” Luke stays exactly where he stands, behind that wooden kitchen table he had made himself, years ago.

He does not move to embrace Ren and he is grateful for it.

“Thanks,” Ren says, awkwardly leaving his cousin and his uncle behind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

There is a ghost.

He stands in the middle of Ren's room, body and clothing that strange, almost faded, blue. He does not see Ren at first. The ghost stares out of the window, mind distracted from the present. By his booted feet, seeming to stare up at the ghost's face, a cat sits, eyes half closed with contentment, ears cocked strangely, fur that same bright orange from the blanket downstairs.

Ren dumps his luggage onto the bed, not caring if the fresh sheets got a little wet from the snow that had soaked through his bag. “Luke didn't say we had a ghost,” he says, almost casually, just waiting to see the ghost’s reaction.

The ghost tears his eyes away from wherever he had been staring and looks at Ren. His facial structure is almost regal, but he is definitely from more modern times. His clothing looks dark in that pale blue of death. His hair is swept back and away from his face. He stumbles away from Ren, phasing through the bed for a moment, before sinking on top of it, crossing his legs neatly at the ankle.

The ghost’s eyes are such a pale pretty color, Ren thinks shamefully, face warming up in the stifling room. But Ren must share a home with _him_?

The cat stalks up to Ren and meows.

He doesn't bend down to pet it like it had hoped for and it returns to the ghost, sitting besides the man's feet.  
_“And Luke did not mention a guest,”_ the ghost huffs, tips of his ears darkening,  
before vanishing into thin air, abandoning that loyal cat. The ghost, who had not introduced himself, had looked around Ren’s age.

How sad for someone to die so young…

He pushes the thought down.

Ren is sure he will return. Whatever the ghost's unfinished business was, he would need a Skywalker's help to finish it. Few others could see a ghost; fewer still could help one.

Angrily, he tromps back down the stairs, meaning to have a word with his uncle. Rey is nowhere to be found, probably in her room. He is alone with the old man.

“Ah, so you've met Hux.” Luke does not look away from his task. He stands, precariously balanced, on a broken footstool, reaching for some documents high up in the cabinet. Realistically, he should just let Ren do it; Ren towers over the old man.

“You didn't think it would be important to tell me about your little house ghost?” Ren hisses out.

Luke snatches the papers first then he takes a strange, unmarked box from the cabinets and shakes it a little. Only afterwards does he clamber unsteadily down. “I didn't know if he would still be in the guest room,” he says. “Hux sometimes vanishes. We aren't sure just why. Don't know where he goes. He isn't always around this house particularly.” Luke says it like it's an everyday thing. It probably is.

“Well, that's sure helpful!” His hands flop at his side. He's irrationally angry at this little thing. His parents had shipped him so far away to avoid a ghost and now he was sharing a room with one. An attractive asshole one. His age. Pale eyes, pale face, maybe he had freckles while alive.

Luke gives him a withering look. To himself, he mutters, “I'm getting too old for this.” He opens that unmarked container, revealing a strange blue powder. “We think he's here because of the cat.”

“Beebee?” Ren says. The cat had followed him from his room and now sat in front of its bowl. It meows, seeking attention. Attention is not given. “Why?” It couldn't be random, could it? A ghost would not stay behind for some random cat.

“Oh, Beebee used to be his,” says Luke all too calmly. He pours a little bit of the strange, blue powder into a mug. Clambering back onto the unsteady footstool, he puts the unmarked box away. Luke adds water to the powder, creating a thick mixture. The drink smells offensively. Luke doesn't seem to mind it; he's used to it.

That is, he thinks, the most absolutely ridiculous reason to stay behind. A cat.

_One prick deserves another_ , he thinks, remembering those short orange hairs that littered the blanket.

“It's part of Rey's training to guide him towards the Light.” A pause, pursed lips. “He is exceptionally stubborn for a ghost.”

Hux's spirit could not have been much older than Ren when he had died. He still looked vaguely healthy and bore no sign of a violent death. Poisoning came straight to mind. As Ren opens his mouth to ask, Luke shakes his head.

“I cannot just tell you,” he says, in that gruff way of his. “It's not that simple. It is not my story to tell.”

Ren huffs, rolling his eyes. Of course the stuffy old man would be like this. He shares a room with the ghost and does not even deserve to know of the ghost's history.

Anyway, who would poison some random college student? Who would have the motive?

“Alright,” he says, more passive than usual. Ren does not want to start fights. Not so soon after moving. He does not have more relatives to be passed along to. He needs to leave the situation before it even begins.

“Are you fighting?” Rey calls out as she tromps down the stairs. Her hair is high up on her head in three little ridiculous buns, her signature 'look.' She has changed her clothes but they remain plain and light. Ren does not think she will make many friends dressed like that but he holds his tongue. He cannot tell her just how silly she looks. There is no word strong enough to describe that.

“No,” Ren answers, just as Luke says, “We are just having a little discussion.”

She nods, eyes narrowed, unbelieving. One hand flies up to her face, rubs her eye. “Well. Nice seeing you again Ren, even if it was just for a short while,” a smile growing on Rey's face. She practically flies down the stairs, throwing herself into Ren's arms, pecking a cheek.

Ren and Rey.

Rey and Ren.

Luke speaks as if a realization dawns on his feeble, old mind. “Ah, you wanted to match?”

He scowls. “No,” he says. Ren hadn't thought of it.

Two descendants of the Skywalkers, both able to communicate with the dead, but only one trusted with the ability. Goody-two-shoes Rey had always wanted to help the dead, to bring them to the Other Side, wherever it was, to bring them peace. Ren had wanted to help too...

And yet, everyone believed that Ren would turn to the darker aspects of his gift, to try to bring the dead back to life... even after seeing what that had done to his Grandfather.

_He had rotted._

_Rotted, while still alive, succumbing to death too soon._

_Grandfather did not deserve to die. All he wanted was company. He had been so very lonely after Padme’s death… Lonely enough to resort to darker teachings, lonely enough to resort to necromancy._

Ren shakes his head, forcing those thoughts out of his head. “A coincidence,” he says, word spat out almost angrily. He has nothing, really, to be mad about. Luke is just trying to be kind, even almost humorous. “I'm going to take a hot shower,” he announces, taking himself out of the situation before it grew worse.

*

He did not remember to get someone to check the mail.

He realizes half-way through his shower. Sighing, Ren pauses in washing his hair, pushing his forehead to a cool tiled wall. Off to a bad start already. Rey had left and now Luke is the only other one home, not including the animals.

Beebee, it could only _be_ Beebee, yowls outside of the bathroom.

“I'm almost done,” he calls out at the cat.

“ _She can't understand_ ,” says that annoying voice once again. “ _She's only a cat_.”

The ghost is back.

He stands in the middle of the bathroom, averting his eyes—almost politely—from the shower and tub. It would be more polite if he had not entered at all. The ghost, Hux, Luke had called him, turns and stares into the cabinet mirror, as if seeing something that Ren could not.

Shampoo drips into Ren’s eye and he hisses, reaching out blindly for a towel. He snatches one and rubs it harshly against his face.

Ren rinses his hair quickly and steps out of the shower, dripping water everywhere. He wraps a towel around his waist and pulls a different one around his hair. He’ll have to clean up the bathroom later, but he cannot do much of anything with a ghost still in the room. _Why is Hux like this_? He wants to yell, to scream, let out his frustration in some, almost tangible, way.

“Listen, Hux,” he says, “I know you're a ghost but we need to have some ground rules.” Ren cannot do anything _to_ Hux and Hux cannot actually hurt him either. Just the invasion of privacy _thing_ happened and Ren wants to make sure it doesn't happen again. It isn’t like Ren could get revenge for himself. Ghosts don’t take baths.

To his credit, he doesn't look too offended at Ren's suggestion.

“ _Like what?_ ” he asks. There is no reflection of the ghost, only Ren is reflected in the mirror, messy hair, hard muscles, and all.

“Like, I dunno, not going into the bathroom when I'm in there?” Ren says, anger seeping into his voice. It’s basic manners. Hux looks like one of those upper class kids who _should_ know basic manners. “Anyway, you don't even need to use the bathroom. Ever. So...”

Hux frowns for a second, then his impassive expression returns. He looks at Ren, almost bored. A topic, long discussed. “ _I can't control where I phase in_ ,” he answers. His voice does not change through it all. Like he has said that very same phrase over and over again, not too far in the past.

Maybe that’s why Ren’s bedroom and combined bath was left to be the guest room.

“Then maybe you could have left?” Ren grabs his comb and brushes his hair more vigorously than he had to, pulling out several long strands.

“ _That can be arranged_ ,” says Hux. Without another word, he phases through the bathroom door, returning to Ren's bedroom.

“Hey! I wasn't done talking,” Ren calls out. This ghost is a pain in the ass.

The ghost peers his head in, through the bathroom door. His face has gone from passive to slightly annoyed. Hux sighs. “ _What else could you want_?”

And he is right.

Ren doesn't have much more to ask from the ghost; he had just been made at Hux's sudden exit from the conversation. If he is not supposed to do stunts like that, neither is Hux. It’s only fair.

He hesitates. “Tell me about yourself?”

Hux rolls his eyes. “ _That's an easy request_ ,” he says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “ _E.A. Hux. Former prelaw student at NYU. Dead._ ”

“Well, I mean, obviously you're dead. You look just a bit blue,” says Ren. “But for how long have you been dead?”

It's a hard question for Hux. His eyes drift to the left. His face scrunches up with thought but he cannot find an answer. It’s escaping him. His hand phases through the door as he runs them through his hair.

His hair.

It looks soft.

Or, like it had been soft.

“And prelaw?” says Ren. “How boring.” Really predictable too.

Hux looks him dead in the eye. He seems to analyze Ren, which is creepy enough. His upturned lips form a haughty smirk. “ _Let me guess... You're some kind of an art student, right? And now you're here in New York, with too many pairs of skinny black jeans and graphic tees and mommy problems. Wow Ren, you're so edgy.”_ Hux rolls his eyes once again, clearly not done with being mean-spirited.

Ren bristles. He opens the bathroom door, hitting the wall.

“Look at yourself, Hux,” he hisses. “You got into prelaw, probably because your daddy was a lawyer and you _had_ to follow in his footsteps because of your family's expectations. And then you _died_. Bet you didn’t meet daddy’s expectations with that, huh?”

Hux leans away from Ren's face, which had loomed so nearly.

His expression is that of a wild horse—startled, angry, doing anything to escape, not truly seeing anything for what it is anymore. He sinks through the floorboards to the second floor without a word.

What Ren had said had hit home.

Beebee looks at Ren, disappointment on its small face.

“Not you too,” he says to the cat.

The cat meows sadly back before padding away. Its tail is not raised high as it normally was. The cat avoids Ren and ignores Ren’s cooing.

Ren dresses himself slowly and throws himself onto his bed. He brings his hands up to his face and sighs into them. How will he survive a new college, halfway through the credits needed, halfway through the year, if he cannot even get along with a ghost and the ghost’s cat? He regrets bringing it all up.

_But,_ he thinks, childishly _, Hux is not nice._

*

 

At night, he dreams.

_A circular room._

_Deep, dark, dangerous shadows loom and grow. A tendril of smoke caresses Ren's cheek, an almost loving gesture.  
No one is within the room, something like an emperor's chamber. The throne at the front is empty. It is large, too, much too large for any normal human being. Whatever the throne had been made for was not human._

_And then the voice..._

_“Kylo Ren.”_

_The voice is thin but deep._

_The voice echoes across the room._

_The voice is distorted._

_“That is your name, yes?”_

_Ren cannot find the strength to speak. He feels as if his body is made of stone, of lead, of metal. He cannot even blink._

_Shadows form the figures of men: seven. They loom at the edges of the room, the shadows forming long, billowing cloaks that drag behind them as they pace and stalk the cold room._

_“Master of the Knights of Ren,” says the voice, a seductive lilt to it. “That will be your title. Do you like it?”_

_His throat is dry._

_He cannot breathe._

He wakes up gasping, sitting up in bed, knees nearly to his chest, hair pressed against his sweat-dampened skin.

Beebee, that stupidly loyal cat, looks up from her perch on the the beside table. She takes a small leap, landing onto the bed. Purring like a small engine, Beebee winds her way onto Ren's chest. She sits, eyes closed to tiny slits.

“So you're just going to fall asleep on me?” Ren mutters. Still, he is charmed by the cat and strokes her short fur. She is just so warm and just the right amount of affectionate.

It is much too early for him to wake up officially.

Ren falls back asleep, hands resting heavily on the poor cat, though she doesn’t seem to mind.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast is a family affair, Ren learns.

He nearly trips down the stairs, half asleep and rubbing at his eyes. He cannot believe what he sees. In fact, a wave a disgust rolls through him at the sight of it all.

Luke sits at the table, again reading the morning paper, still wearing that damn bathrobe. It’s been a few days. It might just be the same bathrobe. Ren secretly hopes Luke owns several identical ones.

Rey is rummaging through the enormous refrigerator, pulling out frozen waffles and pre-packaged microwavable meals. She looks up at him and smiles. “Good morning Ren,” says Rey. “What would you like to eat?”

“Not that.” He cannot stop himself. He cannot deal with another microwave meal. He had enough of that when growing up with his mother and father, both of them leading incredibly busy lives.

The smile on Rey's face wavers. She keeps it on her face through pure force of will. “Then... what _do_ you want?”

“ _He wants to cook. Right, Ren?_ ” says that ghost, phasing into existence into the seat across Luke at the table. “ _Careful Ren. You might just burn_ yourself.” Ren whirls around to glare at him. Hux is sneering, face triumphant. He wears pajamas, a jarring sight. His hair is unstyled and sleep-mused.

Ren turns back to Rey. It's too early to deal with this. Already, he's nearly shaking with fury. “I'll make pancakes,” he says with too much bite to his words. Then, to Luke, before he forgets, “Uncle, have you checked the mail?”

“Yes,” he uncle says, not looking away from the paper. “I put your mail on the pile.”

“ _The pile,_ ” says Hux, disgust evident in his voice, “ _is right next to the front door, right next to the television._ ” Then, almost bored, “ _You have mail from several colleges in our area.”_

The pancakes are more important, Ren thinks. He could check the mail later, chest feeling all too heavy. He is almost anxious to see which of the schools would accept such a late transfer.

Luke's house is somewhat well supplied. They just can't cook. It’s sad. His Uncle is so old and Rey is finishing up high school and neither one of them can cook anything more than boxed macaroni and cheese.

Hux's eyes gaze heavily at Ren's back. He feels as if they will burn a hole through Ren's neck.

The ghost looks somewhat untidy, something that seems unusual, all things considering. His hair is not styled, Ren notes once again, and falls lifelessly against his forehead. Hux's eyes are tired and look darker at their edges. When Hux moves, a sleeve is dragged upwards, the pale skin of his wrist marred by blue bruises.

“Is there something wrong, Hux?” asks Luke. He too has a strange expression on his face and glances, suspiciously, at Ren. Something is not right in this happy little family's kitchen. That heavy sensation in Ren's chest returns.

_“It feels as if a different ghost has been here,_ ” Hux says, nose twitching in a strange way. Like a rabbit, thinks Ren. A frightened rabbit. Hux even taps one foot against the ground.

Rey pauses, looks strangely into the air, a frown growing on her face. “A ghost normally stays where it has died,” she says. Practical knowledge that all those that could commune with the dead knew. “This doesn't make sense.”

“The spirit who trespassed upon us is likely a malevolent one,” announces Luke. He sets down the paper. It floats gently until it lands on the countertop. “Has anyone had any strange dreams?”

Ren nearly burns the pancake he is making.

He cannot let them know of that strange throne room, those strange figures, that strange, charming voice.

Ren has no more family members to go to, to be handed over to. So he falls silent, eyes trained on the pan that sits on the stove top and the batter.

Hux watches him, not saying a word, those gears in his head already turning. He would have made a fine detective, had he not been groomed to become a lawyer.

*

It's night when Hux approaches him, appearing in Ren's bedroom. The ghost looks different, once again. Same sad eyes, same side-swept hair. He wears pajamas: long pants and a button-up shirt, a cat pattern printed on it. How cheesy. Ren wonders who gave him those while he was alive.

Ren can't suppress the silly smile that grows on his face.

Hux looks ridiculous.

“What do you want?” he says, not grouchy enough, like he had been intending. Instead, it sounds as if he really is trying to be helpful.

Hux crosses his arms, shooting Ren a hard look.

“ _It's you that the malevolent presence wants,_ ” he hisses. “ _What have you done to attract it here?”_ There is anger and fear mixed up in Hux's surprisingly soft voice. Again, his nose twitches.

“I've done nothing!”

That pestering spirit thought he had the right to constantly bother Ren for things he has not done. He’s sick of it all.

It is not _his_ fault that ghosts were just naturally attracted to him.

If only Hux could touch him; he'd probably strangle Ren. He probably would fail to even hurt Ren, with those hands of his, too soft and delicate looking to be of any use. Hux looks like some noodle, tall but with little mass. His face darkens as his emotions build. If he had been alive, Ren is sure Hux would be as red as a tomato.

“ _And here I was, about to offer you my help._ ”

_Wait._ That... that did not make sense.

Ren looks at Hux strangely, squinting.

Why. Just why would this ghost offer his help? Hux smirks at him; no wonder he had a _cat_. He resembles one all too much.

“ _Would you rather figure it all out yourself instead? How like your uncle...”_

“Shut up,” Ren barks out. He turns his back on Hux and pulls off his shirt, quickly turning back to glare. He tosses the dirty shirt into one corner of the room. “Leave. I gotta change.”

The ghost is momentarily stunned and averts his eyes, but he does not leave like asked. “ _Must you do that?”_ Hux hisses. His face glows a darker blue. His hair falls across his forehead funnily. If Ren could, he'd brush it aside.

“Change my clothes?” he says.

Hux's shoulders square up. “Make a mess,” he says, chin pointing to the discarded shirt. He crosses his arms defensively. What a strange, silly man.

“It's my room,” says Ren. He pulls down his pants and throws those in a different corner. “I'll do as I like.”

If Hux had any other color but blue at disposal, he'd probably be glowing some vivid red. He looks as if someone has choked him, face a dark, nearly midnight, blue. “ _Careful Ren_ ,” he spits, thin lips sneering at the bigger man. The nightstand quivers, the alarm clock shaking _just_ so. “ _This used to be my room.”_

And once again Ren says something so simple, so soul-crushing.

“Yeah, well, you're _dead_.”

Hux doesn't say anything, eyebrows shooting upwards and mouth falling open. He just vanishes.

Ren sighs. The room is much too cold now thanks to the damn ghost. He's always slept in just boxers. He has to make an exception that night, and pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

He adjusts the alarm clock, pushing it closer to the middle of the table, just in case Hux decides to pull that shit again.

Ren flops onto his bed, it creaking loudly, and throws an arm over his eyes. Morning would come, soon enough. And with mornings came new chances. He would chose a college soon enough, even tomorrow.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

People have already posted onto Yik Yak about how they've found their soulmates sometime during the first half of the year. Lucky them, thinks Ren. He couldn't even find the building he was supposed to go to.

He makes quite the sight: the tallest man on campus, cloaked in loose black clothing, hair wild, and black nails already chipping. Ren scowls at anyone who dares to make eye contact with him, having already had a bad experience on the bus that day.

Which is probably why he cannot find someone to help him find the administration building.

Why the fuck did he _not_ have a map to navigate this maze of a campus?

“Excuse me.” Two words—clipped, calm, collected. “You look lost.” The woman that speaks to him is too cloaked in black. She looks eerily like him, down to the hairstyle and her chipped nails. One is even chipped the same, the pinky of her left hand.

“Yeah,” he says. “I am…”

She does not smile when she speaks; instead she inclines her head, like some strange gesture or greeting. “It is nice to meet you, Kylo Ren. I've heard of you.”

Ren's heart stops in his chest. The name from the dream.

“You will call me Kiara Ren. I suspect we have much to discuss,” she says. Her nose has been broken in the same way. It's all too creepy. Kiara is just a little shorter, nothing too noticeable. “Follow me.”

Left with no choice, he does.

Her jacket flaps open once the wind decides to strike. She does not pay it any mind. She does not even shiver. She seems like an extraordinarily strange woman, not that Ren is in a position to judge. She is the only one who approached without fear and the only one he had not snarled at.

*

He has an hour for lunch.

With no friends to speak of, Ren would be alone with his thoughts.

If it had not been for his look-alike, of course.

She appears, somehow knowing where he was—there, leaning dangerously on some modern art piece. Kiara's lips are pressed into a thin, firm line. “Hello again, Kylo Ren,” she says. “Our group sits together for lunch. In the cafeteria. Every day.”

“Our group?” he says. Ren hadn't known he belonged to one.

“We have much to discuss,” Kiara says. “We, the Knights of Ren. So far, there are only three of us. I'm sure we'll find more people to join our ranks.”

“Again with that name,” he hisses, too loud despite his attempts. A passing by woman—his height, no less, with a shock of blonde hair—gives him an odd look settling down on a deserted bench, arm wrapped around a smaller woman's waist. They pretend not to listen, but they surely are; it's free entertainment! “What _are_ the knights of Ren? _Why_ are you calling it _our_ group.”

“We have been chosen,” she says, bringing her hands up, palms up. “Our Supreme Leader has big plans for you, Kylo. Soon, the Supreme Leader will find the last four remaining Knights of Ren and then he will rise again.” She says it triumphantly, white teeth so bright.

“I'm not joining any cults,” he says. Ren's bag, suddenly too heavy, hurts his shoulder. He shifts its weight. “Listen, I bet you're a nice girl--woman. Whatever. I just moved here. I don't want to get into any trouble now.”

It’s too soon for this shit.

Her nose wrinkles. Her lips thin out more, if even possible. “You will come to see the error of your ways,” she warns him.

Ren frowns at her, attempting to give her his best glare.

It does not work as he had hoped it would. She walks away, just as calm, cool, and collected as she came, gait normal, not even rushed.

Ren eats his lunch on the great big lawn, shoving half of his sandwich into his mouth. It doesn't taste particularly good. He will need to do the shopping from now on—clearly, Luke and Rey relied too heavily on instant meals. The bread is going stale.

At least the weather is nice today, he thought. The snow had not lasted at all. It had melted nearly the day after.

The silence of the campus is still too loud.

“Don't mind her,” says the blond woman. She's moved, standing in front of him, shading him from the sun. Her girlfriend is tiny, in one word, and clings to the giant woman's side. “She's a bit intense.” The woman holds out her hand.

Ren takes it.

Her handshake is firm and brief, hands calloused.

“I'm Phasma,” she introduces herself. Her eyes are unwavering, icy and detached. She looks amused.

“And I'm Jess.”

“Ren,” he calls himself.

They don't make any remark on the unusual name.

(How could you, when you are named Phasma?)

*

No one is at home when Ren returns. _Not home_ , he tells himself strictly. _Luke's house._ He does not even hear Artoo, that loud dog. _Must not be ho--here either._

Blue smoke wafts from a loveseat in the living room. Hux sits, staring ahead at the blank television screen. His arm lies weightlessly against a table, palm facing up and his shirt rolled up.

“Hello?” says Ren. It is not too unusual for ghosts to see something not there, reliving their memories, but Hux seems to get lost in them. He walk, slowly, steadily, not to startle Hux. It's creepy how the ghost looks haunted; he's supposed to be the one _doing_ the haunting. “Hux? Are you alright?”

The eyes, such a pale shade of blue, shift to focus on Ren.

“ _You're here_ ,” Hux says, sounding almost relieved. There are deep dark circles underneath his eyes. He looks exhausted.

“I'm here,” Ren echoes. He seats himself next to Hux, making sure that their forms did not intersect. Quietly, he looks ahead, trying to see just what Hux is staring at. “What do you see?” asks Ren. He's done this a thousand times before.

“ _What do I see?”_ Hux laughs. It sounds like the ringing of bells, however broken. _“Trying to guide me to the Light, Ren?”_

Ren shrugs. “Can't hurt to try. You'd be happier there probably. Maybe see some family.”

Hux's shoulders bunch up for a second, then he forces himself to straighten. He does not look to Ren. _“Probably not... it has not been so long.”_

There are dark blue marks around Hux's arm. They could pass as bruises. Ren looks away from those potential injuries. Maybe, he hopes, it's just a misunderstanding, a mistake.

Ren speaks up again. “You don’t spend much time in the living room,” he says.

“ _No_ ,” says Hux. “ _While alive, I did not do much other than study and prepare for my classes. It feels... strange to be here._ ”

“Then why are you here?” Ren asks.

“ _I snuck back into the house_ ,” Hux says. “ _And I was caught_.”

“Oh.”

Ren had been through similar experiences.

“And your parents chewed you out?” says Ren.

“ _Specifically father_ ,” says Hux. “ _Mother left when I was young_.”

Ren would touch Hux’s shoulder if he could, squeeze it, reassure the man. But he cannot. His hand would just go through Hux’s body.

Hux tilts his head upwards, shutting his eyes and exhaling quietly. The dark outlines of hands have blossomed on his neck. Ren can't bring himself to say anything else. It feels almost wrong to make Hux relive anything more.

They stay together, silent but not hostile, until the blue smoke stops drafting from Hux's ghostly form.

“ _Thanks_ ,” Hux says.

He says it quietly but the gratefulness is there.

Ren feels needed for once.

*

He picks up his mother's call this one time.

“Benny,” she says, sounding older and more tired than he remembers.

“Mommy,” he can't help but say. He cannot see her. It's just a voice call. For a moment, the longing to see his mother surfaces. He crushes it, blinking furiously.

“How is New York?” Leia asks. “Do you like it there? Is Luke being welcoming? Is he still wearing that damn bathrobe?”

“Everything is fine,” he says. He cannot tell her about Snoke. He smiles, trying to think of other things. “I only see him in that bathrobe.”

If Ren could see her, she'd be shaking her head. “I swear,” she mutters. “He'll live his entire life in that thing if someone doesn't stop him.”

Ren doesn't think anyone will.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_The same circular room._

_It spins slowly._

_It's too dark to see anything... Ren blinks but can't tell the difference._

_Are his eyes open or shut? It remains just as dark._

“ _We meet again, Lord Ren.” That same ghastly voice speaks. It warbles, as if the speaker is somewhere far, far away, projecting itself straight into Ren's mind. His head feels heavy._

_“Who are you?” Ren manages to ask, throat collapsing in on itself. The name… the name… in the moment, it is lost to him._

_A light pierces the dark. A misshapen face looms above him, much bigger than a human had the right to be. “I am Snoke,” it announces, grinning without joy. Its body had that blue about it; This Snoke is a ghost._

_Ren shivers._

_“How are you talking to me if you're dead?” Ren stumbles back in his dream. He can deal with ghosts, but a ghost had_ never _invaded his dreams before. What sort of power this creature must have possessed while alive!_

_“I was born with great power, like you, Kylo.” Snoke moves away from him and the light follows, illuminating more of the room. It is a throne room and Snoke seats himself regally. Further out, cloaked figures loom; they are the Knights. “It is a shame how poorly your parents have treated you... to send you far away without another thought. They don't believe in your strength.”_

_“They don't believe in my strength...” he finds himself repeating, believing it._

_“Yes,” says Snoke. His eyes hold sympathy for the man he sees before him. “But if they had not so cruelly cast you from their lives, you would have never piqued my interest.”_

_More light trickles into the room, revealing more. Ren crosses his arms in front of his chest. Even in his dreams, he dresses in all black. He does not wear shoes and the chill of the floor seeps into his bones through his bare feet._

_He's wearing robes, like one of the Knights._

_“What do you want from me?” Ren finds himself asking._

_Snoke is a ghost. But he doesn’t quite look human._

_That blue only can be found in ghosts… And only humans possess souls and can become ghosts. What unfinished business would such a strange looking creature have? Where did he come from?_

_“I wish to train you,” says Snoke. His eyes are dark—pitch black, there are no whites to the huge orbs. “Your Uncle and his apprentice stick so closely to the Light... Wouldn't you want to explore more powers…? Darth Vader did.”_

_“Grandfather...”_

_“Yes, your grandfather.” Snoke is pleased by the reaction he gets from Ren. He sits up, reaches an arm out. His fingers are long and thin—but not elegant. They are not like Hux's fingers. “Darth Vader turned to the Dark side, to find the true potential of his powers.”_

_And then he died, Ren is reminded._

He wakes up with a shock.

Same bed. Same sheets. Same Beebee curled up at his foot.

Ren brings his hands to his face and breathes out deeply. The room is still dark. It is still dark outside.

He should sleep, he tells himself.

He cannot, he also knows.

It's raining, beating down against the roof so loudly. Ren lies on his back and stares at the ceiling.

_“You dreamed of the other ghost again?”_ Hux stands at a far corner of the room. He is dressed formally, as if he has somewhere to go. The blue spills from him and creeps into the corner he stands in. It’s a uniform, Ren realizes.

He wears a distasteful expression, nose wrinkled, as if he smells something pungent.

Ren covers his eyes with his forearm. “Yes.”

Hux says nothing.

Hux does not move.

“He called himself Snoke,” says Ren. “Do you know him?”

“ _Is it because we are both dead_?” Hux says humorously. “ _We do have something in common, but I can't say I snow him_.” The blue smoke that leaves him seems to freeze in places. _“Ren, names have power. You shouldn't say the other ghost's name.”_

“I say yours.”

_“Yes, but that is because your Uncle is sure I am not a malevolent spirit,”_ he says evenly, a smirk growing on his face. He would have a handsome smile, if he didn't force himself to look mean. Hux approaches him, feet not really touching the floor, until he stands at the edge of the bed.

“It's not like I can control if the other ghost finds me in my dreams or not,” Ren huffs. He sits up slightly, just to glare at Hux. “It's not my fault.” But Snoke promises him power. But Snoke understands how he feels… And Snoke knew his Grandfather.

Hux sighs, touching Ren’s face gingerly. Ren can almost feel the calm coolness of Hux’s hand. When he climbs onto the bed, it does not shift; there is no weight. _“Do you want to avoid seeing him in your dreams?”_

Ren stays silent. Curious.

“ _Well?_ ” Hux stays near where Beebee sleeps, as if he wants to pet the cat. He cannot. His hands would go right through her. _“It's still so early in the morning. You can still get some sleep.”_

“How do you suggest I get sleep, safe from the other spirit?” Hux is being interesting for once. He has a secret that he doesn't want to share.

Hux sighs.

His eyelashes are long against his cheek. If there were some color to them, Ren thinks they'd be an almost translucent blond.

_“I can bring you into my memories. There, you cannot be found by any other spirit_ ,” he admits. His cheeks and nose flush a darker shade of blue. He's blushing. He blushes when defensive.

“And that is safe?” Ren says. He's never heard of this kind of thing before. For all he knows, Hux is making it up just to get his trust or something. But he would not want to get stuck in another person's memories...

Hux shrugs. _“Probably, yes.”_

Helpful.

Ren lies back, rolls on his side. He does not look to Hux. “Do it.”

Hux sighs. _“Not even the littlest bit grateful,”_ he mutters. He reaches out towards Ren's leg.

For a moment, Ren swears he feels Hux's touch—light and cold, hand almost clammy—on his foot. Then everything fades to the bliss of sleep.

*

_This dream does not involve that circular room, that whispering voice._

_The dream is full of light and sound. Birds chirp. He stands in what had been the guest bedroom, Ren’s bedroom now, and sees that the furniture's been changed. Tall bookshelves stand against one wall of the room, opposite of the bed._

_A young man, so obviously a younger version of Hux, puts a book back in its place, standing on his tip-toes to reach a particularly tall shelf._

_Ren is surprised by his coloring: his hair is a shock of orange._

“You look so young _,_ ” _he says aloud._

_The young man does not hear him, continues putting the books away._

_Hux, the one that appears his age, stands next to Ren, arms crossed, shoulders sagged._ “This was my room,” _he says. “_ What's been done with those books...?” _He shakes his head, grieving a little loss._

_It'd be a waste if the books were just carelessly thrown away, like the rest of Hux's belongings._

“Did your family move out after your death?” _asks Ren._

_Hux snorts._ “Obviously. I'm not related to your Uncle.”

_Ren scowls. He had just been trying to get to know the prick..._

“I'm tired Ren,” _says Hux. He really does look it. He look so much younger here... The Hux of the past wears so many layers and still he manages to look cold, skin as pale as freshly fallen snow._ “Just... rest while you can.”

_And so he does, as Hux's memories continue to play._

*

“You'll have to do a series of something,” his painting teacher tells the class. There are collective groans and collective cheers. The class is very polarized. The teacher, Mr. Kenobi, smiles, almost kindly. “Yes, yes,” he says, thoroughly amused. “I know how it's like. I once was in college.”

He says it as if he is an old man. He is not too terribly old.

Mr. Kenobi does not pace the front of the classroom. His hair is almost ginger. He wrings his hands. “It can be a series of portraits, of landscapes. You have a lot of freedom on this one guys. Just as long as the series is connected in some way--” he drones on.

A series of portraits...

Ren thinks of the painting of his Grandfather, gathering dust in his family's attic. Who will remember his Grandfather?

 


	6. Chapter 6

When he wakes, it is slowly, peacefully. Sunshine warms his face but had not disturbed it. He has slept perfectly well and feels entirely rested. Ren wrinkles his nose and brings his hands up to rub at his eyes.

He doesn't dress. There is no class today, so he has no reason to. It isn't as if Luke would change from his pajamas and robe; so why should Ren? He tromps down two steps at a time, rattling the rickety staircase. Hux wasn't there when Ren woke up. Beebee was also missing.

“Good morning,” Luke says, seated at the kitchen table. To his side is that foul smelling drink. It smells worse than the first time Ren had caught a whiff of it.

Ren makes a face. “What the fuck is that? Smells like shit.” He had forgotten to ask the first time he saw Luke make it. Better not forget again.

Luke doesn't say anything at the profanity. “It's for Hux,” he says simply, as if it would explain everything.

“He can't drink that,” hisses Ren. “He's incorporeal.”

“The spirit of the drink will help the spirit of the man,” Luke says, slowly, as if it is some wisdom he had just imparted on Ren. It does not help. It just leaves Ren more confused. The drink has no spirit; it had never been alive. Only humans have a soul.

Instead, he changes the subject. “Where were you and Rey last night?”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Ren wants to throw something in anger. Why can he never get a straight answer from his own damn Uncle? It isn't that difficult a question. He had worried.

“No,” says Ren, nearly gritting his teeth. “Just wondering.” He will never bring up those dreams, he tells himself. The voice, so smooth, knowing just what to say. Ren does not have more relatives to go to; he'll even miss Luke and Rey and Hux.

Luke keeps his gaze on Ren, steady, suspicious. “Rey and I had an exorcism to perform. There was a particularly cruel ghost that would not stop bothering one of Rey's friends... what was his name? Finn, maybe?”

The name doesn't matter, Ren wants to spit. He doesn't say that. “A cruel ghost? What did it do?”

“The thing kept on trying to scare the young man,” says Luke. He tugs at his beard. He should shave. “Knocked things off of shelves, changed the television channel, wrote messages on the bathroom mirror. Those things.”

“Sounds powerful.”

Luke shakes his head. “These are common abilities for a malevolent ghost,” he says.

“Really?” He thinks of the time Hux had shaken things around in his room. Luke had said that Hux was not malevolent. “What are the abilities of a benevolent ghost?”

Luke scowls. “We are not perfectly sure. They normally are able to have free reign on where they go but they often find the Light soon after death.”

“Then what exactly does that make Hux?”

Luke smiles. Ren can almost hear his thoughts. _Oh, finally interested in our family practice? The good ones, the ones Anakin did not contaminate._ “We don't have an official decision regarding Hux. It is likely he's stuck specifically to this house due to the manner of his death. He does not exhibit any other quirks.”

“When he's mad, he can move objects,” Ren says.

And Luke repeats it. “And you have a talent for upsetting others,” he says lightly. “I've never known Hux to lose his temper.”

Ren scowls. “It's easy,” he says. “And why do we call him Hux? Doesn't he have a first name?”

Luke shakes his head, fondness for his nephew coming through, eyes crinkling at their edges. Quietly, he says, “Anakin was the same with Padame. And Leia was the same with Han. We Skywalkers tend to be brass with our lovers.”

His uncle has finally lost his mind, thinks Ren.

A retort dies in his throat and he makes a noise like a startled animal.

Luke does not stop smiling.

( _Hux might be attractive._

_It means nothing_.

It's too early for Luke to decide that he's in love with a ghost.)

It's just physical attraction, Ren decides.

*

When Han calls, it's a somewhat awkward affair.

He's always been loud, especially so on phone, like he's trying to be heard without it.

“So, ah, Ben,” says Han, trying so desperately to start a lasting conversation. “You got yourself a girl just yet? Here you are, practically free from any supervision, far away from your parents. I'd be going clubbing every day.”

“Uncle Luke is here,” says Ren. He has supervision.

“Yeah, well, it's not like Luke can stop you from anything,” says Han with a laugh. “Oh man, back in the day, the three of us got into all sorts of shenanigans. Luke tried to be the voice of reason when we started getting old. It didn't always work.”

Ren can't imagine anyone being able to convince Han of anything.

Perhaps with the exception of his mother.

How else did they get married? Han needed to be convinced of everything, his mother would never let them forget.

“So, did you meet someone?” Han asks again. Chewie barks on the other end, sending his own sorts of greetings. Ren never thought the day would come when he'd prefer Chewie's loud enthusiasm to another dog's.

“Sort of...” he says, just to appease Han. He definitely does not think of Hux while on the phone. Definitely.

“Knew you'd be just like your old man,” he practically coos.

Ren shakes his head.

*****

Weeks of relative silence pass.

Each night, Ren allows himself to enter Hux's mind and stay there for the time. It is surprisingly organized, meticulously organized. There are many memories that are hidden from Ren. He does not ask why. Everyone has their secrets.

“Your hair,” Ren says, the sleepy morning light shining through Hux where he lay on the bed. “It's longer.”

Hux blinks, eyes sleepy. His eyelashes shine red from the sunlight; for a moment, it's almost like he's still alive, rosy cheeks and all. “ _Yes_ ,” says Hux, stretching on the bed, back arching. It is sensual in the morning light; messy hair and long lean thighs. Hux's ghost has been wearing a sports jersey to bed every other night this week. “ _I relive my life every year_ ,” he explains, “ _until I die. Then I reset on the first of the New Year_.”

“When did you die?” Ren asks. Hux is unusually pliant this morning. Where is the prickly man he had known?

“ _Hm_...” he actually _hums._ “ _I died in June. I can't remember the day...”_

“Do you remember how?”

Hux laughs, humorless. “ _I'd rather not_ ,” he says easily enough. It's halfway through April already. There is not much time left; when Hux is gone, Ren will not be able to escape those dreams. _“You need to tell Luke about your dreams soon,”_ he says, as if reading Ren's mind.

And then Luke would have him leave, thinks Ren.

Hux snorts.

“You don't understand,” Ren says. “Uncle wouldn't understand.”

_“I think he would,”_ says Hux. His pupils are so dilated. It's like he's drunk. Ren would have never taken straight-laced Hux as someone who would resort to alcohol and drink away his problems. _“He's a nice man. He certainly... tries.”_

“You know...” Ren says, knowing that now would be the best time to change the subject. “I never did learn your full name.”

_“Elan.”_

“Elan?”

_“Yes. My full name is Elan Alexander Hux,_ ” he murmurs, sleepy, so sleepy. What a mouthful. Just where is that strict, military-like behavior Ren had gotten used to? What is wrong with Hux?

He needs to keep the ghost of Hux awake and rooted in the present.

“Did you have any siblings?” Ren asks. He has none, but he has Rey.

_“No... only Millicent,”_ Hux mutters.

“Well... she's a cat.”

_“A good cat.”_

Hux fades out suddenly and Ren feels as if he has failed.

The world goes black.

*

_That throne room once again, ten degrees cooler than it had been previously. Ren shivers, sees his breath._

_A large, distorted form is seated on the throne, arms resting on either side of the creature. This, this must be Snoke, in all of his glory. This terribly misshapen creature._

_“Lord Ren,” the creature coos, disappointment laced in his voice. “You have been avoiding your glorious destiny for some time now.” Ren feels then how it is like to be crushed. He struggles for breath, bringing his hands up to his throat. “Ah. I must apologize. I forget how fragile the human body can be.”_

_“Just_ what _are you?” Ren asks._

_What has he done to Hux?_

_“I too am a ghost,” Snoke says, thin, scarred upper lip curling. “Far older than one would assume. Your Grandfather would have known me.”_

_“How?”_

_Snoke seems to smile. “By the whispers of my name,” he says. “I was a powerful necromancer while still alive, something Darth Vader wished to become. He often studied my ways while trying to revive his poor dear wife.”_

_Ren doesn't say anything._

_He can't say anything._

_“Grandfather... studied your teachings...” he finally manages to breathe._

_Snoke nods, slowly. “Yes. And here I am, looking for students,” says the ghost. His image ripples and then solidifies once more. “I've already found a few. You have met one of the Knights of Ren, for you will be the leader.”_

_“W-why?”_

_“For you are the great descendant of Darth Vader, living legacy of the great power that ran in his veins,” Snoke says. “All those people you are surrounding yourself with are forcing you down the wrong path, down the path of weakness.”_

_He is silent._

_The throne room dissolves._

“Ben!” Rey finally cries. Her face is pale, blotchy. She had been crying. “You... you wouldn't wake up!” Rey throws herself across his body, hugging him close and nearly choking him.

Over her shoulder, Luke stares at him.

Ren cannot read a single emotion on Luke's face.

“The malevolent ghost,” Luke says, not even waiting for Rey to pull away from her cousin. “It's come in contact with you. And you didn’t even think to tell us?”

His mouth is dry. He cannot swallow.

Luke looks so sad.

Rey pulls away and looks at him seriously. Her eyes flash. “And where's Hux?” she says, horror growing in her voice. Beebee the cat _mrows_ almost sadly at Ren's feet. “I can't sense him at all.”

“What have you done?” says Luke, disappointment suddenly all too clear in his pale eyes.

“Nothing,” he says, voice hoarse, cracking. Ren tries to stand, but finds the floor to be unstable underneath his feet. Rey helps him back down to the edge of the bed. “Hux,” Ren says, voice gruff, heavy with sleep. “Where are you?”

The ghost does not appear.

His presence has vanished entirely.

It is still too early for him; stuck in his timeloop, Hux would not have 'died' again just yet. No... they have time. They still have time.

Where is he?

“What have you done?” Luke asks again, so softly, so betrayed. He needs to sit. He looks pale.

Ren stands, finally and wobbling and swaying, he pushes past his relatives. “I didn't do anything,” he says again, rubbing at his eyes. They water, red at the edges. And he stumbles down the stairs, squinting at the bright lights that filter in through curtains.

“Ren!” Rey shouts after him, following him down the stairs. She's shorter, she's slowly. “Where are you going? We need to talk!”

Ren ignores her and storms out, just barely remembering to snatch up his jacket first.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> art by raspberryholic.tumblr.com !

Ren wanders. He does not really have anywhere or anyone to turn to. So he forces himself to walk, to prowl, to go to that park across the street, storming his way down the nearly empty street. There is no one to stop him here. No one cares.

The statue seems to stare at him, looking down from its high perch, passing judgement on him. There are benches that surround the statue, all empty, but it's too open; he does not want to be found. Not so soon. So he goes deeper into the park, where all the trees are, curling in, hiding him.

It could be a real forest, Ren thinks to himself.

And forests are deep and dark and lovely, especially at night.

A tree branch scratches his face, right between his eyes and diagonally. Ren hisses, clutching at his face, blood dripping between his fingers. He continues on, stumbling, nearly blind, until finally he collapses, back against a tree.

Ren sits there for a long time, curled in on himself. He lets a long breath of air escape him, telling him that it was _not_ a sob.

Then there is blue.

The blue of a ghost.

Ren whips his head around, trying to see just where the dead man is going. The ghost is not dressed for the weather. It is warm, late spring going into summer, and yet the ghost is dressed as if it's trapped in the middle of a blizzard.

Ren doesn't speak up up the ghost is close enough to see clearly.

“Hux?” he cries out, voice hoarse.

Hux wanders through the forest as well, hair a mess, face unshaven; he's sporting a small, scruffy beard. Along with the mess, Hux wears a winter jacket, too heavy for the weather they're enjoying.

Hux trips over something that is not there and lands harshly on his palms and knees. He shudders, collapsing on to the ground, a soft, nearly choking noise escaping his throat. He curls in on himself, bringing gloved hands to his face and pressing his palms roughly against his eyes.

“Hux?” Ren says again. He had not been heard the first time. Just what is going on?

When the ghost does not respond, Ren forces himself to stand and cross the distance between them.

It's odd seeing Hux like this, his carefully calm exterior broken. He's crumpled in on himself and breathes in startled little bursts. He keeps his head down, still keeps his hands on his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world.

“What's wrong?” Ren asks, knowing that he would not be heard. Ren kneels beside him, trying to get to Hux's level.

 _Is this how ghosts feel?_ he wonders, all of a sudden. _Unseen, unheard. What help can they get?_

He reaches out, not thinking and then--

Hux becomes solid, ghastly blue becoming rosy with life. Hux gasps as if he had been drowning, taking in as much air as his thin body could get. His eyes—green, _startling_ , beautiful green—are framed by thick red lashes.

He looks at Ren shakily, at Ren's hand, which still rests on his shoulder, touching him so gently.

“Ren...?” Hux sounds dazed, unsure if this is all real.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

_How is Hux alive again? How has he become a real, physical thing?_

“I-I don't know,” Ren says, stumbling on his word. His hand is heavy on Hux's shoulder, warmth radiating through the heavy winter coat Hux wears. He notices that it's open, over a pair of pajamas. Hux wears patterned pajamas to bed in the wintertime. Ren does not know what to saw about that fact.

 _Cute,_ a part of him thinks, cheeks reddening.

“Don't let go,” Hux mutters. “I feel as if you are my only anchor.”

It might be true.

Anakin had wanted to do something similar with Padme's spirit. What would Anakin say if he could see Ren now?

Slowly, Hux uncurls himself and scoots closer to Ren on the ground. He rips at the grass by their feet, pulling it out from the ground and then letting go. The grass is wet against Hux's skin; Hux wipes his hand on Ren's pants.

“You didn't... go to that other spirit, did you?” Hux mutters, distaste spilling into his words. He's already suspicious.

“No. That spirit... he came to me,” Ren says. Hux's shoulder is skinny and sharp underneath the coat. It feels as if he could break easily. His pupils are mere pinpricks of darkness despite how little light shines around them. Odd. Something isn't right.

“You're reckless,” Hux says. “I thought you would surely go to him once he had said the right things. And he does tend to say the right things...” Sleepily, he rests his head on Ren's shoulder. His breath smells of beer.

“Are you drunk?” Ren asks.

Hux hums. “Very,” he says softly.

“And how old are you?” Ren asks, teasing. If Ren is not yet the legal age for drinking, he doubts that Hux had been either. They look nearly the same age.

“Will we count the time I spent while dead?” he asks, but does not wait for an answer. “I was dead for four years, so I would be twenty-four...”

“You died at twenty then?” Hux's head is surprisingly heavy on his shoulder. His hair looks so soft, its red color so vibrant. Hux had died at twenty; Ren is twenty. It's strange that Hux would have been his senior if he had not died.

“Congratulations,” says Hux, smirking against Ren's shoulder. “You can do basic math.”

Ren snorts. He's all too tempted to push Hux's body away. But they aren't sure just what would happen. Would Hux disappear again? Ren isn't ready to let go of this extraordinary warmth, the warmth of another person. “Why were you in the park? Thought you couldn't leave the house.”

Hux hums again. “I relive my life, but this is wrong. I ran out of the house in winter.” That would explain the coat. A gasp. “It must be that spirit, that damn Snoke... he must be messing with my timeline.” Hux balls his fists so tightly, Ren is sure that he must be bleeding.

“How is that even possible?” he asks, uncurling Hux's fingers and filling the gaps between Hux's fingers with his own. Why did he know so little about the ghosts he is supposed to help? Why does no one bother to explain things simply? Ren curses his mother, though it is not entirely her fault. He had never asked her either.

“It is,” Hux says, which is not so helpful. _How_ is it possible? Ren wants to know. Hux stiffens. “Someone's coming.”

Hux is the one to break contact between them both, pulling away from Ren's relaxed hold. The warmth leaves him and Hux returns to the ghostly blue Ren is familiar with.

“Ren!”

It's Rey.

Of _fucking_ course it's Rey.

She runs at him and nearly skids to a stop, looking curiously at Hux. “What are you doing here, Hux?” she asks, kneeling to sit beside the duo. “That's... isn't that what you wear in January?”

“Yes,” says Hux, but nothing more. He makes himself look dignified, raising his head up high. Though it's debatable how dignified one can look while wearing a winter coat, patterned pajamas, and little else. Still, he does not leave Ren's side, staying close, nearly touching.

Nearly alive once more.

Rey drops the subject. “Come home Ren,” she says softly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Rey leads the way out of the park, Ren and Hux following close behind; she is completely unaware of what had happened right before she came across the two. Hux meets Ren's searching gaze.

 _You need to tell your Uncle_ , his eyes seem to say.

Ren gnaws on the inside of his cheek. He hates to admit that Hux might be right about the incident.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Ren doesn't manage to bring up his new gift to Luke, too afraid of what the man says. Too afraid to find the words he needs to say.

Hux had disapproved, has been disappointed in Ren and oddly silent for a few days.

Ren thinks of how Hux had pursed his lips, crossed his arms, and avoided him throughout the day. In the night, Hux would allow Ren to slip into his memories, safe from Snoke's reach.

Those little glimpses of things Hux remembers...

Those little memories are the memories of a child, not the young man Hux had been when he died.

The bedroom, painted such a pale shade of blue.

The closet, the musty smell of clothing. He had been hiding, heart hammering against his ribs, no delighted giggle escaping him, the child Hux had been was afraid. Hux had been hiding from something, from someone.

Ren shakes his head, pulling his mind away from those memories, freely shared, and back to the class. He had not looked at the live model too carefully and gave his drawing the wrong features: a strong chin, a thin nose.

The teacher looks at it once and says what Ren already knows.

Ren sighs and erases what he had done.

Still, they will have the freedom to do whatever they'd like with the sketches. Ren wants to work with the colors of sunlight; red, orange, yellow. Hux could easily be a model, he thinks to himself, again losing himself in his work.

He'd like to draw Hux if he could...

That could work well for a project for his, for his series of portraits he had just barely begun. Hux, with hair like flame and lips like blood, would paint a pretty picture.

Of course... only if he was willing.

*

It's after class that Kiara Ren finds him.

She still has those chipped nails, that dark stare. She looks at him like one would look at some dying, twitching insect. “It's you again,” Kiara says. “You were absent yesterday.” Her voice is clipped. Even the look in her eyes is harsh.

“Yeah.” Ren packs his bag, throwing his materials in haphazardly. He doesn't have to explain himself to her. He doesn't have to associate himself with the Knights of Ren and their ghost of a leader.

“Why?”

He doesn't have to answer to her so he does not.

“Hey.” Kiara slams his desk a little too loudly. Now she's caught the attention of the others in the room. They're in the English classroom. A basic English classroom, a prerequisite class. Kiara has it with him, unfortunately. Her voice grows low and ghastly. “Our Leader Snoke has a keen interest in you.” Her eyes are almost amber in the light. “You better not disappoint him.”

“I don't want anything to do with him or you,” Ren says with an air of finality, Hux's words still ringing in his ears; he still hasn't told Luke. Would Luke be angry? Ren is not sure.

He leaves her behind, taking long steps, quickening his stride.

She is his height and Ren cannot escape her.

“But think of the power you can attain,” Kiara tells him.

“I'd rather not,” he says.

“You could bring back your grandfather.”

Ren freezes in place. Slowly, angry brimming, he turns. “And what do you know of my Grandfather?” he hisses.

Kiara smiles. “The Supreme Leader has told me of Darth Vader,” she says, staying close to Ren's side. There is nowhere Ren to move, unless he'd like to walk upon the school ground's grass. “He has told all of us. You might surpass Darth Vader's power, if only you would allow our Master Snoke to help.”

Ren scowls. “No,” he says, repeating himself once again. “I'll be fine on my own.”

She watches him through curtained lashes as he goes, crashing his way into another class, glare like acid.

_*_

_“_ Hux,” Ren says, throwing his bag into some corner of the room, ignoring the way it crashes against the hardwood floor. “I want to paint you.”

“ _What_.”

Hux reclines on the bed. Once again, he wears that sports jersey. Ren has half a mind to ask just where Hux had gotten it from; it was too broad in the shoulders for Hux and the tall, skinny man seems to swim in the excess fabric. Beebee is curled up by his feel, on top of one of Ren's books.

“You heard me,” says Ren, the tips of his ears turning red. “I want you to be a model for my painting.”

Hux gestures to his transparent self. “ _How_?”

Ren had honestly not thought that he would get that far. “Ah...” He can't just take a picture of Hux as he is; he would not show up in the photograph. He reaches out. “Do you think I can make you solid again?”

Hux shrugs. They had not tried.

Hux lets himself be touched by Ren.

Ren's hand goes right through him.

“ _Disappointing_ ,” mutters Hux, looking at where Ren's hand is inside of him. It feels weird for Ren. It must feel weirder still for Hux. “ _But not unanticipated. What will you do now?_ ”

Ren sighs. “Guess I could sketch you?”

It wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't be able to see the flame-headed, icy eyed Hux in his full glory.

“ _In this?_ ” Hux says, nose twitching in that endearing way. He does not like the idea of a picture of him existing; especially not with his hair sleep-tousled and the jersey hanging off of his thin frame. He looks beautiful, though Ren would never admit it and Hux would never accept it.

“No,” snarks Ren, “go to your ghost closet and change.”

Hux rolls his eyes. He shifts on the bed, shirt falling to reveal what would have been one creamy strip of skin. Even his chest is thin, barely muscled, completely unlike Ren's body.

He picks up his sketchbook and a pencil and opens up to a blank page. He could spend all day drawing Hux and wouldn't get close to bored.

“ _Next time you are able to reanimate me_ ,” starts Hux, just as Ren starts on those two thin lips. Of course Hux wouldn't be able to remain silent for long. “ _Bring me to your uncle. He needs to know_.”

“Next time,” Ren promises, placating the ghost.

He sketches in silence for a long time, Hux only moving when asked to change his pose.

Quietly, barely above a breath, “ _I don't have much time left this year._ ”

Ren scratches his cheek, his nose, dark marks appearing on his face. “I know,” he says. Ren discards the sketchbook, setting it on the edge of his desk.

He crawls into the bed, curling nearly into a ball and stares right through Hux's head. It isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

“I think... I have a crush on you,” Ren admits. It had only taken months.

“ _I know_ ,” he says, his lips curling up.

Beebee purrs.

“ _I notice you've been reading_ ,” says Hux. The book he had brought from New York, read but not understood, sits on the bedside. “ _Faulkner. How did you like it?”_

“There's a flaw in narration,” mutters Ren, not looking away from his sketch.

_“How Darl seems to know exactly how events unfold when he is not there?”_

Ren hums.

_“My personal theory is that he's psychic.”_

“No, that can't be it,” Ren frowns. “Everything else is so.... normal. He can't be psychic. It's in the south?”

_“Are you saying that psychics can't exist in the south?”_

Ren snorts, trying to hide a smile. “You know what I mean.”

Hux laughs, bright and quiet in their shared afternoon.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by raspberryholic.tumblr.com for the kylux big bang !! A huge thanks !

The paintings slowly come to completion.

He's proud especially of one: Hux sitting, legs crossed at the ankle. He looks regal, painted in only warm colors. The backdrop, a cleaned up version of Ren's own bedroom, is painted cooly, allowing Hux the spotlight.

In hindsight, perhaps Ren should have painted Hux sitting on a throne.

He certainly would suit it.

Hux is crowned in streaming sunlight, a light that gently tousles his hair. In the painting, he smiles at the viewer, ever slightly. A benevolent king ruling over his subjects, eyes narrowed with mirth.

The instructor claps him on the shoulder.

“Excellent work with your choice of colors,” says Mr. Kenobi.

Ren can't hide his grin.

*****

“There's something you need to see,” a woman murmurs to someone else.

Ren isn't sure who. He is still half-asleep, surrounded by such blissful warmth. The soft scent of strawberries fills his nostrils. His hand rests over something warm and fragile; something flutters within, like some caged bird.

It's a heartbeat, soothing and steady.

“Now... that's unusual...”

“What should we do, Dad?” It's Rey who's speaking... speaking to Luke? Where are they...?

They're in his room.

Ren's eyes snap open in horror.

Within his arms is the very solid form of Hux. The jersey has fallen from one of his shoulders. His skin is littered with little, orange freckles, just like his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His mouth is partially open, lips like a blooming flower, the color of fresh blood. Even his cheeks are dusted with tiny freckles. His head is tucked underneath Ren's chin and Ren's arms are wrapped around his lithe body.

It's cute.

Too cute.

Ren tears his eyes away and to his family, where they stand. Staring. Watching. He's afraid to see judgement in their eyes.

“Ben,” says Luke, using his damn birth name. “Do you have something to explain?” He looks concerned and stressed. This is exactly what Leia and Han had sent him here for to escape; to keep him from abusing his powers, to keep him from reanimating someone.

“I'm sorry,” he blurts out.

Hux mutters something in his sleep, pulling himself closer to Ren.

Ren's cheeks flush hot.

Luke takes a seat on the edge of the seat. Hesitantly, he reaches out. His hand touches Hux's socked foot and remains there. “He's warm,” Luke mutters, unbelieving. “You really brought him back to life...”

Rey gasps, mouth opening wide. “Did you bring him back to life in the park?” she says. “Is that why you two were whispering?”

Ren scowls.

“How long?” Lukes says. His eyes look watery in the morning light. “How long have you been doing this?”

Ren looks away from his Uncle's harsh stare, finds his hand running itself through Hux's hair. “This is only the second time,” he mutters. “Both times have been accidental.”

Luke sighs.

“It's worse than I had thought,” he says. Luke looks so much older. He touches his temples gingerly. “How do you reverse this?”  
“He's asleep,” Ren says. “I'm not letting him die while asleep.” He scowls. Hux is so warm and fragile in his arms; he is too protective, and his family is sure to notice.

“So this _can_ be reversed,” murmurs Rey. She looks so absolutely amused at this whole situation. Ren cannot do anything to stop her silly smiling, not while Hux is alive and solid; later, of course, Ren will get his revenge.

“How can it be reversed?”

“If we stop touching, he'll die again.”

Luke sighs and stands. “I won't bother you,” he says. “Call me when Hux wakes up and is ready to die again.”

A sick way to put it.

But accurate.

Rey sits beside them both once Luke closes the door behind himself. She still looks mischievous, but there is a glint of both curiosity and worry in her eyes. “Why didn't you tell us?”

He sighs. Hux's breath tickles his neck. “I don't know,” Ren admits. They would have found out eventually; he had just wanted to push that thought away. “It's just... my parents made me move here to avoid having me resort to necromancy.”

“And you used those powers accidentally,” Rey finishes. “Huh.”

Ren scowls.

What would Grandfather think of him now?

Would he be proud?

Hux shifts in Ren's hold, waking up groggily. He blinks, once, twice; those red lashes rising and falling. Hux catches Rey's gaze and blinks again. “She knows now.”

They do not immediately pull away from each other.

Rey stands. “I'll get Luke,” she says. _He'll want to see this_ , is not unsaid. _He'll want to see Hux return to his ghostly form._ Rey bounces to her feet and leaves the room just as quickly, door just barely cracked open.

Silence.

Hux's heartbeat is steady.

His breath is warm and tickles.

He is a comfortable weight in Ren's arms.

“You're so... small,” Ren says quietly. Hux feels smaller still in his arms. It is strange, something he wouldn't expect. He thinks of Hux in life; did he wear shoulderpads?

Hux snorts. “I'm just barely shorter than you,” he says. One of his hands rests on Ren's bare shoulder. His nails are short, trimmed neatly. Of fucking course they are.

“But so skinny,” Ren says.

Luke returns with Rey. He stands, crosses his arms over his chest. “So let's see what will happen if you let go of him.” The theory is Hux would die once again. It's been proven once before.

Ren and Hux separate, creating distance within the small thing called a bed.

As expected, the fire leaves Hux's form, only leaving behind that blue. Hux gasps, losing his breath, his life. He looks resigned, weaker, shoulders slumping for a brief second, once again becoming see-through.

“Interesting,” says Luke.

“Can you bring him back again?” asks Rey.

Ren has tried before. He's only been able to bring Hux back when he wasn't trying at all. Without a word, he reaches out for Hux's ghost.

And his hand passes right through Hux's torso.

“Guess not,” says Rey softly.

“So the power _is_ unintentional.” Luke pauses once again. He touches his beard, then the rat's nest he has for hair. “It might be best if you slept in a different room from now on, Ren.”

“What?”

“ _What_?”

Hux and Ren speak at the same time.

“It'd be best if you two stayed away from each other,” says Luke. “We do not want Ren to use his newfound necromancy powers too much... You don't want to go the way of your Grandfather, do you Ren?”

He looks away.

“ _Without me there, that malevolent ghost could always force its way into Ren's dreams,”_ says Hux, finally using the one bit of information he had on Ren.

Luke freezes.

His face pales.

“Hux,” he says softly, age catching up to him. “Explain yourself.”

_“Ren can use my memories to block out Snoke,”_ Hux says, slowly, calmly, clear eyes roaming around the small room. _“But I am unsure if distance poses a threat to our method of pushing away the malicious ghost.”_

Luke sighs again and raises his hands to the heavens.

“I will be calling Leia,” he says tiredly.

Nothing else can be done.

Ren can't look at Hux.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

“Ben,” Leia voice is so very soft through the speaker. “I really thought that you would be safe with your uncle.” She laughs, bitter and tired. “I should have known.”

It is as if all Skywalkers are born to live dreadful lives.

“Sorry,” he says.

He is alone in Rey's room. She had left earlier; she was going to go to some of her friends. This is the only room where Ren thought he could have some privacy.

“No, no... It isn't your fault.”

It is, if even slightly.

Why hadn't he told Luke?

Why did he have to wait?

It is too late to despair.

“Mother,” Ren breathes oh so softly, “I feel as if I am being torn into two.” Snoke wants him. Wants him for some higher purpose, he claims. And Ren is afraid he might just do it if it'll force those nightmares away.

“Sweetie,” she says, so many miles away.

In another life, perhaps Leia would have been a queen. In another life, perhaps she would have been high up in the military.

The nightmares have gotten so much worse now that Ren and Rey share a room. Hux's former bedroom stinks of that drink Luke makes, now almost daily. It is a nuisance to even go by, giving them all headaches.

Worst of all, Hux seems even more lethargic, barely ever seeming to move, body growing more and more transparent with each passing day.

Some days, he is mere static, disembodied and confused .

Leia is thinking on the other end of that phone. No doubt, she is tapping her fingers against some desk. Always rhythmically while she thought. “We'll figure something out, Ben.”

He's sure his head will split in half before she and his uncle came to an agreement.

*

“I think we made a mistake.”

It's Rey. She speaks so quietly, trying not to be overheard. Still, Ren hears her from his spot on the inflatable mattress. They are down the stairs, speaking in hushed voices. Still. It carries.

“Dad... did you see how they looked at each other?” she mutters, voice heavy. Rey is confused. “I think they'd be good for each other.”

A pat.

Luke is comforting Rey, touching her shoulder gently. “Rey,” he says softly, “it wouldn't work out for them. Hux is dead and must remain so. Your grandfather died while trying to resurrect his wife... Would you want Ben to die while trying to bring Hux back for good?”

“No... but. He hasn't died yet.”

“We don't want him to hurt himself,” Luke says. “Besides, Hux made that decision on his own.”

“Dad,” Rey hisses. “Don't say something like that.”

Beebee presses herself close to Ren, meowing for the attention. Ren pets her, underneath her chin, just how she likes it. She purrs, pleased with the attention. Lately, she's only been trailing Ren.

He closes his eyes, thinks of Hux.

“He called you Millicent, didn't he?”

The cat meows once again.

Ren laughs quietly, chest rumbling. “Tomorrow I have to walk Artoo,” he confesses.

The cat blinks slowly. Looks distasteful.

“Yes, I know,” agrees Ren. “I'd much rather walk you, but... I don't think you really should walk a cat.” Beebee blinks slowly, keeping her eyes closed for a moment. “You're an indoor cat anyway. The outside wouldn't suit you.”

Beebee curls on his chest, closing her emerald eyes.

Ren sighs to himself.

“I'm talking to a goddamn cat...”

*

Artoo is a tiny terror while on walks. He barks and greets everyone they pass. Ren scowls, trying not to make eye contact with any passersby. It is awkward when they coo at Artoo, that smug little pup. It's more awkward still when the person in question flinches at the dog.

(For something so small, how can it be so loud?)

The park is lush with life.

Birds sing.

He remembers Hux. Hux that wore a winter coat over his pajamas. How he had looked, messy and unkept.

He feels a pang.

His head will surely split.

Artoo paws at Ren's feet.

“It's fine,” he reassures the dog, continuing on their little walk. Artoo looks back on him every now and then, as if checking if Ren is still okay. His head hurts. The sky is suddenly too bright.

He pulls out a small, plastic bag once he sees Artoo begin to almost squat.

With the bag, Ren scoops up the poop. He wrinkles the nose. “Gross,” Ren mutters. “For such a small dog, you poop so much.”

He groans and throws it out.

Time to go back home, he decides.

*

When he returns home, he finds it to be too cold.

Unnaturally cold.

Artoo hunkers and refuses to go in.

Ren sighs. “It's fine,” he says, helping the dog into the front yard and locking the gate. “Stay here Artoo.”

The house is still so cold, like a glacier had settled into his old empty room up all those stairs. There is no one in the living room. Strange. The kitchen is empty too. Ren walks slowly through the first floor, confusion turning to fear.

“Rey?” he calls out. “Uncle?”

He ignores the way his own voice had cracked.

There is something desperately wrong with this all.

“Is anyone home?” Ren calls. No one calls back. Slowly, he walks to the stairs. Fearing the worst, he snatches up the first thing he sees as a weapon. The television remote is a heavy thing. It is better than nothing.

He climbs up the stairs, one by one.

They creak underfoot.

His skin crawls.

Rey hadn't told him she'd be going anywhere after school today. She should be home by now. And she is not.

And then there is his uncle, who very rarely leaves the house.

The second floor is just as deserted.

Then he climbs up to the third level.

Almost immediately, he finds the cat.

Beebee.

She cowers, ears flat against her skull and tail low against the ground. She cowers outside of Ren's old room, outside of Hux's old room.

“Beebee,” he calls out at first, stepping towards the cat, taking small steps. One by one. He does not want to frighten her more. She looks petrified. “Millicent.” Still the cat does not move from the place she is frozen. “Millie...” he says, so soft, just a whisper.

The cat looks away from the closed door and trots to Ren

He rewards her with a pat between the ears.

And still there is no one else home.

“Hello?”

Beebee hisses, arching her back and staring wide-eyed at the door to the bedroom.

Ren walks to it slowly, floor creaking underfoot. The air fills thick, as if he'll choke on it all. The atmosphere is heavy and weighs down on his form. Whatever is in the room just _cannot_ be Hux.

When he grasps the doorknob, it shocks him.

It feels as if a lightning bolt has struck him straight on.

Gritting his teeth through the pain, he turns the doorknob anyway, throwing the door open.

Hux is not within.

The normally orderly room is thrown into disarray.

At the center of it all, standing regally and proudly is a ghost. But, it is not _his ghost_.

Snoke, that malevolent presence that had hovered in the back of his mind for so long, stands at the very center of it all. He smiles, distorted features pulling up.

“ _So nice to see you in the flesh, Ren_ ,” he says. When Snoke speaks, it is as if he is nearly alive. His voice booms. His voice echoes. “ _Well_...” Snoke gestures at his translucent self. “ _Nearly flesh to flesh_.”

A shiver runs down Ren's spine.

His heartbeat, ever the traitor, cannot seem to slow.

He turns, bolts, tries to escape--

but finds the door slamming shut before his eyes.

He turns back to that... to that _monster_ before him. Snoke's eyes glitter with cruelty. “What do you want?” Ren croaks. Beebee still hisses on the other side. Luke and Rey are nowhere near. Even Hux is missing.

Ren is entirely alone.

“ _I want what all creatures want_ ,” says Snoke. “ _To live_.”

The words escape breathlessly. Snoke walks closer, closer, spindly fingers passing harmlessly through Ren's chin.

“ _I wish for life,_ ” he says, “ _and you can grant this humble desire_.”

Ren shakes his head, backing away still. He only revived Hux twice, and both times had been accidents. And he had _liked_ Hux. Even just a bit. But if Hux hadn't died, they would not have met. _Is he grateful for a death?_

It feels as if his death will be next.

Once again, his eyes roam the room.

The window is shut tightly. The curtains curl inwards, beckoning, beckoning.

“Your family is weak,” says Snoke. “They ignore their own potential for their beliefs. How honorable, one might say. How sad, I say instead. But you, Ren, your potential is much greater than theirs. You still have the chance to explore it...”

His blood is like ice.

“What have you done to them?” he says, horror dripping from each painful word.

Snoke cocks his head, amused at the outburst. He had not expected it. “They are still alive, if that is what concerns you,” he says, voice slow and soothing, as if he is talking to a child. But Ren is no child. “They will be returned to you once you complete your task.”

He knows just what Snoke wants.

And it is an impossible task.

The anger that bubbles from him is red hot and all encompassing.

How dare they...

How dare Snoke do this?

How could he punish Luke and Rey for things they had not done? How could he take advantage of Hux's weakened state? How could he relentlessly hunt Ren and the power Ren possesses?

How could Han avoid him?

How could Leia send him so far away and try to make up for it with phone calls?

How could Grandfather die and leave him all alone?

When Ren strikes out, his fist meets nothing but air. The blow doesn't even give him the pleasure of seeing Snoke's ugly face dissipate for a moment.

Instead, he punches the wall.

He swears, grasping it close to his chest. Ren is sure that it will swell. Ren is sure that he will have to seek medical help.

“ _Have you gotten that out of your system now?_ ” Snoke says. His eyes crinkle at the edges, bringing up scar tissue. “ _Anger is useful to those with our gifts, but not at all helpful when revival is in order.”_ Whatever Snoke had been in life, he could not have been human.

Ren does not answer.

“ _You've brought back your little..._ pet _a few times as of yet_ ,” says Snoke. “ _Giving me life should not be more difficult_.” He stretches out a long, thin hand, as if he expects Ren to kiss his knuckles.

“Hux,” croaks out Ren, anger leaving him in waves. “Where is he?”

The ghost had not had the power to leave the room; he had been so weak due to the blue mixture Luke had made. The bowls and cups that held the drink have been overturned. They lie on the floor, liquid dry and caking on the hardwood.

“ _Elan Alexander Hux_ ,” Snoke says.

It feels like a violation of that bittersweet memory.

Hux had entrusted his full name to Ren. And names, names have power.

“ _Elan is on a little trip_ ,” says Snoke quietly. He simpers, eyes two tiny specks on his malformed face. _“He will return to us in due time, but how can we have a discussion with him here_?”

“Where is he?” Ren asks again. Where is Luke? Where is Rey? He clenches and unclenches his fists, nails digging into his palms.

Snoke waves his hand.

_The park is dark and deep and dangerous at night while we all sleep._

Ren gasps, bringing a hand up to his face. The pain in his mind is searing. Whatever power Snoke had gained in death was unimaginable! To reach into one's mind and to rearrange it! Only a malevolent spirit would think about that kind of power.

Snoke has pushed the image of Hux, dwarfed by a jacket that could have never been his own, walking through the park at night.

“ _You see, Elan is just fine_ ,” says Snoke. “ _Let's return to the issue at hand_.”

He should play along. He should continue talking with the ghost, try to stall so that Luke might arrive to his rescue. Luke would know what to do, one side of him fervently hopes. “I will not bring you back to life,” Ren says. The other side had won out. The side that had given up hope in family.

“ _I'll ask you to reconsider_ ,” says Snoke. He speaks as if he is being kindly.

“I will not.” Ren pulls himself to full height. It might be his last moment.

The air crackles around the ghost, all colors fading but one; even the air becomes blue around Snoke. It is like the air is charged with electricity. “ _Your Grandfather would be disappointed in you, Ren.”_

He thinks of the man Grandfather had once been.

Shaggy haired, lopsided lips. Anakin Skywalker had fallen fast in love and had stayed in love, staying at Padme's deathbed until the end and then some. Anakin Skywalker would only try necromancy if he had a reason to.

His reason had been love.

And not one soul could ever hope to love a creature such as Snoke.

The blue fades from the air around Snoke all at once. Even Snoke fades, overpowered by another.

In front of him, Anakin Skywalker stands in his ghostly glory.

His eyes, faded blue, find Ren's. “ _I have been trying to reach you_ ,” he says so softly. Snoke is powerless behind him. _“Ben. Go. There are others out there who need you. I'll take care of this.”_

At his side, Ren sees the faint outline of his grandmother.

Ren nods. “Grandfather... in case I don't see you again. Goodbye.”

Anakin smiles, finally at peace. _“Luke is in the basement. Rey is in the attic. And I suspect you know where Elan is. Goodbye Ben. Be a good boy.”_

Ren runs from the room, teary eyed.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

 

He finds Rey first, prying the door off of its hinges with a burst of strength. He'd have to fix it later. Or get it replaced.

He kneels by her side, touching a shoulder. She had been cold beneath her clothing. “No,” Ren mutters to himself, turning her over and clutching at her wrist. Silence, silence, he presses a finger to her wrist and searches for a heartbeat.

A long moment trickles by.

He sighs with relief.

“Rey,” Ren says, “it's time to wake up.”

And she does, eyes fluttering open. Her entire body jolts. “What happened?” she says, voice dry and painful.

Ren shakes his head. “A lot.”

“Where's Dad...? I was with him when... when...” She purses her lips, eyebrows furrowed. “I don't remember what happened.”

“I promise I'll explain everything later,” says Ren. He throws himself into Rey's arms, nearly knocking her over again. Ren kisses her cheek while at it.

“I feel like you did something really bad,” she mutters.

He smiles sheepishly. “Not as bad as it could have been,” he says. “Luke's in the basement. Go get him. I need to bring Hux home.”

She nods slowly, head still fuzzy. “I guess you have a lot of explaining to do, huh, Ren?”

“Yeah.”

His smile is lopsided, just like their grandfather's.

*

Ren walks through the park slowly, carefully, looking for the ghost. “Hux,” he calls out, wondering if he could even be heard by him. The last time, Hux hadn't noticed him at first.

Now... Ren is not sure.

His feet take him to the spot where he last found Hux.

And sure enough, Hux is there.

He sits, on his knees, bowed over. His head rests on his knees. His form is a pale, wispy blue, hair undone messily but cheeks freshly shaven.

“Hux,” Ren says again, walking up to him. He kneels on the cool ground beside Hux and just watches. Hux sits so still, frozen back in time. Slowly, Ren reaches out, wrapping an arm around Hux's shoulders.

His body turns solid.

Hux breathes in, then out.

“You've found me,” he mumbles, mouth clumsy. His teeth had been chattering in the memory, cold, so cold. Ren rubs his hand clumsily up and down Hux's back.

“I always will,” Ren promises. “Come on. Let's get back home.”

Hux is barefoot. He doesn't move.

“I'll carry you,” Ren says.

And then he does. Ren thinks they might look a bit ridiculous. Hux, dressed in pajamas and a jacket and little else, riding on Ren's back, as if he is an exhausted child. He is much too light, Ren thinks. For someone that tall, he should weigh more.

There are little people ever out this late.

And it is fine, of course.

No one questions a thing. A dog walker and her poodle don't meet Ren's intense gaze.

The scratch that a tree had given him last time has scarred. Hux traces it with a hand, obscuring Ren's sight.

“It gives you character,” Hux mutters right into Ren's ear.

“I have half a mind to drop you,” Ren mutters right back.

“You won't.” Hux's breath smells of mints and strawberries. A strange combination. They cannot taste good together.

And Hux is right of course.

Ren does not let go of him; can't find it in him to _want_ to let go.

*

Luke's hair is in disarray when they return. Artoo barks happily, circling around Ren's feet excitedly and pressing paws against Ren's knees. The dog must just be happy that the malevolent spirit is gone.

Beebee sits, watching, at the edge of the room, drinking from her water bowl slowly. Her eyes, a bright forest green, lock onto Hux's. Slowly, she blinks.

Rey places four mugs onto the table. Green tea. She thinks it's good for relaxation. Ren thinks it's good with sugar. (Rey doesn't agree.)

She hesitantly meets Hux's eyes. “It's nice to see you again.” It's been a while since Hux had been able to somewhat resemble himself in his ghostly form. Now, he's flesh and blood and warm against Ren's back.

Ren kicks two chairs close together and sets Hux down in one.

It's a difficult maneuver, getting into the chair while avoiding Artoo and not letting go of Hux in the process.

It must look funny too. Luke's mouth quirks upwards while watching.

“The other spirit is gone,” Luke announces. “And though I do not approve of you bringing Hux back to life like this, I will allow it for the time.”

“Did you speak to Grandfather?” asks Ren. His hand rests on Hux's knobby knee. With shaky hands, Hux grips the mug and practically breathes in the scalding liquid, letting out a pleased sigh.

“Yes,” says Luke.

Rey side-eyes him from her seat. She looks impassive. She had never met Anakin in life. Ren suspects she had not even gotten to meet his ghost.

“Necromancy on its own had not been the cause of his death,” Luke explains. He pauses, expecting Ren's outburst.

“What was it then?” asks Ren, much more subdued than anyone would have anticipated. If necromancy had not killed his grandfather, then what had?

“It was the same ghost that had invaded your mind, night after night,” says Luke. “Snoke.” The name held no power now. “He tried to use your grandfather to return himself to life. Unfortunately, Anakin was older and weaker and died because of it.”

The room falls silent.

Luke takes a sip of his tea, ashen lashes falling against his cheeks.

“You're lucky you didn't die, Ben,” says Luke. He is so quiet, almost whispering across the kitchen table, looking downwards, at his own gnarled hands, picking at his nails. “And we have Hux partially to thank.”

Hux looks up. The light catches his eyes and his pupils become mere pinpricks of darkness, almost swallowed up by his ever-changing eyes. Hux scoffs. “This could have been avoided if Ren didn't hide everything.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners and he hides a smile by bringing his mug of tea to his mouth and taking another swallow.

Of course Hux would remind him of his mistakes while leaning into his touch. Bitterly, Ren thinks that Hux may just be part cat for how cold and cruel he can sometimes get.

Luke does not say anything else. He stands, reaches for his morning newspaper, and begins to read. It's like nothing out of the ordinary had even happened.

They are not exactly a family, but they are somewhat happy.

*

Late that night, Ren calls his mother.

They talk, voices low in the quiet of the night. His phone's battery is nearly dead. That is one thing he can not return to life on his own.

Ren lies on the bed, over the covers, head resting on Hux's knees, facing away from the ghost-turned-man. Ren's voice wobbles as he speaks to his mother, wishing that he could see her, wishing he could feel her comforting arms around his much bigger frame.

Without a word, Hux brings his hand up to play with Ren's hair, tangling his long fingers in that silky black mane.

Ren closes his eyes and lets himself exhale a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

*****

The Knights of Ren, if that had even been that great of a thing, dissolves without Snoke. Kiara doesn't approach him. Her hair is pulled up and away from her face. Her nails are no longer black. She doesn't seem like she knows him at all.

The days nearly fly by.

Then it's the end of May, almost the beginning of June.

Hux's ghost will die soon, if he continues to reenact his timeline.

Ren shakes his head, unwilling to let Hux make that choice all on his own, once again.

*

“I want to bring him back permanently,” he says. Ren sits on the other side of Luke, right across from him at the kitchen table. He sits, arms resting on his knees and hunched over. Soon, his back will ache.

“Who is _he?”_ Luke asks, teasing.

Luke knows very well who Ren is talking about. Ren does not even dignify that with an answer.

Luke sighs. “And what will you do with him?” he asks. “Are you hoping to bring him back home after you graduate?”

Ren rubs his face, rubs the diagonal line that stretches across it. It has scarred, just faintly; not as badly as he had first assumed it would. Hux said it gives his face character. Ren thinks the character of his crooked nose is enough.

“I was thinking,” Ren starts awkwardly, slowly, almost shyly. “I was thinking of staying in New York after I graduate.”

Luke's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. “What's caused this change?” he asks, hesitance just dripping from his voice. Luke hopes it is not just Hux's presence. Luke hopes it's not all tied to one person.

Hux has no papers; he's dead. How could he fly to California? If anything, they'd need to take a road trip back home, Ren thinks. Then he pushes the thought away. That road trip would only happen if he convinces Luke.

“Opportunities,” Ren admits. “I'm going to have some of my paintings in a gallery.” Portraits, specifically. Portraits he'd done of Hux, crowned by fire. Mr. Kenobi had connections and those people had taken a liking to the set.

Luke reclines. “Oh,” he says. He doesn't sound impressed by it. He doesn't know the art world, Ren fumes quietly.

A pause.

Silence.

The only noise is the _tick-tick-tick_ of the clock on the wall.

“So...” he says, cursing the loudness of his voice amongst the silence. “Can I bring him back for good?”

Luke spreads his hands, fingers like fans. “I thought I gave you permission after speaking with Anakin.”

Ren falls silent.

“I thought you knew,” continues Luke. “I did tell you that necromancy, coming out of one's love for another, was not the reason for Anakin's death. Snoke's meddling caused him to become sick and die. It should be fine for you physically to revive Hux, though I warn you against it.”

Ren's heart pumps loudly. He stands, chair scraping the ground harshly, and kisses Luke's cheek. “I'll bring him back now,” Ren nearly shouts, unable to keep the delight from his voice.

Luke wavers and finds it impossible to voice the rest of his concerns.

He hopes to never see them in an argument.

Ren will just have to learn to live with a dead man for the rest of his life.

Oh, how it's like to be young, he thinks to himself.

*

Hux takes back his life easily enough, skin flushing pink.

It's easy to breathe life back into him. His heartbeat is steady. Each breath Hux takes is almost too much for his chest, as if he's trying to make up for the years he had not breathed.

Hux leans onto the utterly drained Ren.

Ren gasps, bringing his hand up to muse Hux's hair. “You should be back for good now,” he says. He pets the hair, stroking the soft red. As tired as he is, Ren pries himself away from Hux.

They do not touch but their knees are so close to it.

And Hux does not fade away.

Ren grins, all teeth.

Hux tangles his hands in Ren's long, filthy hair and pulls him close. Their mouths collide, all teeth. “Ouch,” Hux mutters, pulling back for a second.

Their noses bump. Ren presses closer, pressing a closed mouth kiss to those soft lips.

Ren puts a hand on Hux's small waist and nearly pulls the other man onto his lap, the bed creaking underneath them.

Hux laughs breathlessly against Ren's skin. “This is... exciting,” he manages to say, nearly giddy. His lashes are so long, so brightly colored. Ren wants to trace them with a finger.

Hux has another chance, another chance of happiness. Ren thinks Hux certainly deserves it.

_Bookshelves, emptied._

_Hux hides in a closet._

_The smell of beer._

_Hux has been frightened._

“Is this your first kiss?” Ren asks.

Hux is sloppy. Hux must think the dripping saliva is disgusting. Maybe he hadn't even noticed yet. His skin is so pink, on cheeks and across the bridge of his nose.

Hux does not say a word; he only nods, once again pressing lips against Ren's.

It's reassuring having something warm underneath his big, calloused hands, even if that warm something are the narrow hips of Hux.

Maybe Rey feels the same.

Maybe this is why Rey had reached out to those two boys and held fast.

Ren thinks he can finally understand.

He hopes his family will finally be proud of him.

 


End file.
